Snowflake
by Loteva
Summary: Oneshot. Set between S7 and S8. Reflection about Purgatory. Dean said it was pure there. I try to analyze why.


Author: Loteva

Title: Snowflake

Written: 25-26.11.2012

Time: Between S7 and S8.

Summary: Reflection about Purgatory. Dean said it was pure there. I try to analyze why.

A/N: My "Supernatural" muse came back! Enjoy!

Standard disclaimer applies.

* * *

There was only one thing – the constant, never-ending battle for survival.

It was brutal. Primal. Visceral. And it was exactly what he needed.

Between the scraps and scuffles which occupied most of his time and energy and all too rare and brief moments of respite, when he could do nothing but desperately try to catch his breathe and fight off the staggering exhaustion, he didn't have any free moments to think about things which didn't pertain to the practical side of here and now. So, unsurprisingly, that particular realization came about a few months after he has been unwillingly sent to the Purgatory. He sensed a bestial, hungry presence coiling to jump him from the back and, as he in one practiced and perfected move pivoted on his heel and stabbed it straight in the heart, the thought unwittingly popped into his mind.

_This is it._

He didn't wait around, instead taking off into the dark forest. There was no room for distraction while fighting monsters for your life.

The woods themselves seemed to know this. They were made for this. His whole stay there Dean didn't see or hear any animals, even birds, nor did he found any tracks of them. The eerie silence, broken from time to time by the dying howls and roars of victory, was proof enough that only monsters inhabited the area.

In Purgatory, most of the earthly limitations didn't exist. Not once Dean had to eat, drink or sleep. The only exhaustion he experienced was purely psychical. At first he tried to eat or sleep but there was nothing edible and closing his eyes was too dangerous, so he quickly abandoned the idea. He stubbornly kept on drinking the water, just to wet his throat and for the comfort of the human action, not because of the need.

One thing he knew for sure – this place wasn't made for humans. He got there thanks to a freak accident and he was the only human there. In the beginning, the lack of people bothered him, however soon all he could feel about it was relief. The monsters had nothing to prey upon, so they, true to their murderous nature, attacked each other. He, in turn, had no one to protect, no one to lie to, no one to lose and feel guilty over.

Humans complicated things. With them out of equation, everything seemed straightforward and blissfully simple, even orderly. The strong killed the weak. The weak banded together to kill the strong. To kill or to be killed, that was the only law in Purgatory.

It was liberating, pure in its simplicity. Dean reveled in it.

He's never had to depend on his best hunting instincts and reflexes that much. They were what kept him from dying there. But if he wanted to draw them out, he had to discard all that was holding him back – needless fears, false preconceptions, pointless doubts. Those which had plagued him back on Earth, now were tossed aside in order to stay alive.

As there were no humans, there were also no morals. For the first time Dean could just shrug them off like a heavy baggage without feeling an ounce of guilt. No more choosing between what is bad and what is wrong, both always condemning him regardless of his answer. And, boy, did it feel good.

Ironic that the place where the monsters dwell was the same place where Dean Winchester was reborn. The ceaseless struggle for every breathe he took made him feel more alive than he's felt in years, since before his trip downstairs. All the taints from Hell, from many betrayals and losses, from the broken faith and damned innocence – they gradually disappeared, scourged by Purgatory. Dean's soul was scrubbed raw, the thick layers of grim and dirt falling away until nothing remained but the shining core of his true being beneath. The Righteous Man.

He found things about himself – those that he's never known and those he's merely forgotten along the bitter way. They were correct when they said that you can find out what kind of a person you are only in a life or death situation. The monsters fought each other because it was in their nature. Dean hunted them because it was in his.

Just as it was to never give up on his family, that's why he was carrying on with the fruitless search for Cas and foolish belief that Sam is looking for a way to get them back. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, betray his family like this.

Dean was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking over the endless dark forest. He was breathing in the crisp, fresh and cold air, all his sharpened senses concentrated to pick up signs of any impending attacks. He certainly didn't expect them from above, so when something icy landed on his cheek, he couldn't restrain himself from reflexively flinching. As he looked up, the source of it became obvious.

It was beginning to snow.

Dean watched perplexed as the snowflakes twirled in the air gracefully, softly falling to the ground. He previously hadn't thought the weather could change in Purgatory but apparently it did. He stuck out his hand to catch the snowflakes, then brought it to his eyes to take a better look. They were pure white and when the beauty of the frozen crystals melted, they became pure, transparent drops of water, gleaming on his skin like miniature diamonds. Dean smiled dazedly and wondered if it was Christmas back home.

A pitched whine sounded nearby, snapping him out of his little world. The smile gave place to cool, predatory composure, the knife held loosely in his experienced and sure grip, as he listened for a monster which was on his trail. Which he fully intended to interrogate about Castiel's whereabouts and, regardless of its answer, kill.

'C'mon, baby, don't be shy. Show me your ugly face,' he muttered under his breath, the excitement bubbling in him.

The thing shot out of the underbrush like a bullet, going straight for the throat. However, Dean stepped aside and batted it to the ground. Seeing it wasn't likely to talk, resembling the cross between a dragonfly and a boar, he didn't hesitate to decapitate it.

'What a fugly,' he commented lightly. Making sure there weren't any more of those around, he walked away briskly into the woods.

There were monsters to kill and answers to get. No matter what it took.

Because he was Dean Winchester.

The Hunter.

* * *

A/N2: How was it? Please let me know what you think. I have a few other ideas, maybe I'll write a little something about Dean and Benny. Also, please vote in the poll on my profile.


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